Every holiday has a standard set of calls, and Thanksgiving
is no exception. Mornings are for smoked
turkey; not the good kind, though. Ovens
that haven’t been cleaned in fifteen years or leaving the plastic bag with the
gizzard and liver in the bird can impart a pungent flavor as well as bringing out the smoke
ejector. This typical run is quickly
being overtaken by the more exciting propane fired turkey fryer setting the
deck or siding on fire.
Late afternoons bring the EMS runs for the folks sent home
from the hospital for the holiday that probably shouldn’t have been. As the day darkens and blood alcohol levels
increase, domestics or “I wanted the #($* leg” and stranger incidents take
over.
One I still remember was a head-on collision on a quiet tree
lined residential neighborhood street; the last place you would expect a wreck
like that. It turned out to be two
stubborn liquored up kids playing chicken; nobody gave, and they both ended up
losing.
Makes me look forward to amateur night for drinkers: New
Year’s Eve
No comments:
Post a Comment